Quite Obviously
by Aoi-Tabibito
Summary: Observational Harry. Intriguing Daphne. When the Golden Boy Extraordinaire is emotionally withdrawn, why does her presence spark an interest? OneShot, Implied HPDG


Title: Quite Obviously  
Author: Aoi-Tabibito  
Summary: Observational Harry. Intriguing Daphne. When the Golden Boy Extraordinaire is emotionally withdrawn, why does her presence spark an interest? One-Shot, Implied HPDG  
Pairing: HP/Daphne Greengrass  
A/N: At the bottom.

--

He had expected it to hurt, losing the one person he thought closest to a parent. He had expected to be in tears, to mourn, to want to die and join him. But of course, Harry Potter wasn't normal and most definitely couldn't expect to feel normal things. In fact, he wasn't really feeling much of anything as he laid on a couch in the room of requirement, looking at the ceiling.

"I wonder why this had to happen?" questioned the raven-haired boy, his emotionless tone enough to disturb even the most withdrawn of souls. Slytherins may have set the bar for hiding their emotions, but Harry wasn't hiding any. He wasn't sure he had any to hide, at the moment.

Turning his head, Harry looked around the room. Except for the couch he was laying on, the room was completely empty. Four times he had tried to mold the room to his purposes, but the necessity required to fuel the room of requirement was difficult to produce for a boy in such a state. Realizing there was no clock for him to look at, Harry pulled his wand from its resting place in his robe pocket.

"Tempus."

A wisp of pure white smoke seemed to flow out of his wand, forming the letters and numbers "10:04 A.M.". He lifted himself up from the couch, preparing to leave and board the thestral-drawn carriages that would be taking the students to the Hogwarts Express in only eleven minutes. He didn't frown at the thought of returning to 4 Privet Drive. He didn't grimace at the thought of spending a month with his relatives, nor did he even smile at the thought of being with his friends for the train ride home.

"Where have you been, mate?" asked Ron as he boarded a carriage with Neville, Harry, and Hermione. Harry struggled with his facial muscles, pulling them into what he thought was a sad face, but looked more like a cross between discomfort and anger.  
"Harry, you're going to have to talk about it some time. Sirius wouldn't want you to mope around like this," warned Hermione, a pseudo-sympathetic look adorning her features.  
"Hn," whispered Harry.

Though he really didn't care to even acknowledge those around him at the moment, the survival instinct that had been imbued from years of living with the Dursley's reminded him that he should at least fake looking sad. That would give a reason for his lack of response, enough so that Hermione had something to speculate about and Ron would know better than to try and converse with him. He didn't really know if Neville would need to be pacifying; the shy boy was never a close friend, though Harry had nothing against him.

"Harry, please... don't bottle up your emotions. You're just hurting yourself," continued Hermione, in a near whining tone. The urge to place a silencing charm on her came, but left just as quickly as he had felt it. After all, that would only cause more problems, and he just didn't have the willpower to stay annoyed with her diagnostic behavior.

Hermione had given up after numerous attempts and had quickly switched to quizzing Ron and Neville about how they did on their OWLs, but Harry could tell that she still wanted to pester him about his feelings. It was quite easy to be observant of others' feelings when you were without your own. For instance, he could tell that Ron wasn't even listening to Hermione, but only pretended to pay attention while he looked at the bushy-haired witch with something Harry could only describe as a longing in his eyes. Neville, on the other hand, was feeling uncomfortable. Harry couldn't place the reason with any certainty, but speculated that it was because he was around people he barely knew, even if they weren't hostile with him.

The carriage stopped abruptly as he was continuing to think about possible reasons for Neville's discomfort, forcing him to leave his seat. Though he was the last to exit the carriage, Ron and Hermione stood on each side of the carriage door and allowed him to walk slightly ahead of them. He never did understand why, but they had always lead him to believe that he was the leader of the golden trio, yet not as close as the other two were with each other. It was strange, in a sense, because he was the only reason Hermione was alive and the only reason Ron ever would have done anything besides insult her-- not that he didn't continue to do it, even if it was behind her back.

Looking around the crowd of students that was boarding the red and gold train, Harry could place each and every student in their house by facial feature alone. In his year alone, he could spot Draco Malfoy sneering. Though sneer wasn't the only mode of expression for a Slytherin, most of them had adopted it throughout the years. Hannah Abbot, one of the Hufflepuff girls, was standing a few people over with a nervous look on her face. It reminded Harry of Neville, but needless to say, the plump boy was more of a Huffledore than anything else. Terry Boot, of Ravenclaw, was standing by with a book in his hands, his eyes flickering back and forth as he read each line. It wasn't unusual to see a Ravenclaw or two walking with an open book, even if they weren't all complete bookworms. From Gryffindor, the red head slightly behind him was a prime example. Although Ron didn't have a sneer on his face, it was close to it. Slytherins and Gryffindors were only a hair apart; two sides to the same coin, and Ron was a prime example of that. Even Hermione, in her better-than-thou way of explaining things she had read, would fit into the Slytherin crowd in some ways.

"Move it, Golden Boy," came a voice that Harry didn't particularly recognize. The tone was obviously Slytherin in nature, but it lacked the casual malice that most Slytherins intertwined with their words. The speaker was a black haired girl of short stature, one that Harry had seen a few times around school. Though she was no more than five foot, making her only three or four centimeters shorter than Harry himself, crowds parted for Daphne Greengrass just the same as they usually parted for the Boy-Who-Lived. He didn't get a good look at her; by the time he realized who she was, she had already shouldered past and was now boarding the train in what were nearly the longest strides her short legs could take.

"What are you waiting for, mate?" asked Ron, scratching his head. Though the underlying question was 'is something so wrong that you're incapable of boarding the train?', the look on his face told Harry that he hadn't thought his words through to realize that.

Shaking his head, Harry pulled his trunk from the pile by the train and dragged it with him as he boarded. By the sound of the clumsy footsteps, followed by paced and methodical footsteps behind him, Harry could tell that the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio weren't far behind. As he walked through the corridor in an attempt to find a vacated train car, Harry could only look at the faces of people who were mostly happy to go home. It wasn't until he looked into a train car that sat Daphne Greengrass that he realized not everyone seemed to share that joy. Not wanting to seem like he was staring while in the company of his friends, Harry continued on his path until he reached an open car near the back of the train.

They hadn't been in the car for more than five minutes when Ginny, Neville, and Luna arrived in the car, not even bothering to ask if they were welcome. Harry wouldn't have made a spectacle and refused, but they had obviously skipped the application of common courtesy. Oddly enough, he somehow knew that he never would have recognized that fact in the past.

"...about Harry?" asked Hermione, causing said boy to shift his ears and eyes into the conversation, but kept his face mostly turned to the window. It wouldn't do to have them think he was interested in chatting.  
"Well, I'm over that crush. I'm going out with Dean, now," replied Ginny.

Though he couldn't see the youngest Weasley from the corner of his eye, he knew that this was nothing but another one of her attempts to catch his attention. She had been eying him only the night before, much to his quickly diminishing disgust. As Ron began making unsavory comments about Dean, Harry wondered if the black boy knew that Ginny was only using him, but decided that Dean probably didn't care. After all, from what Harry had seen in supposedly empty classrooms while walking around at night in an invisibility cloak, Ginny was being equally 'used' in each of the relationships she had been in. While Cho had been damaged goods, at least she wasn't... for a lack of better words, 'used and abused'. He idly wondered if Ron or Mrs. Weasley had any idea of her experience, but quickly decided that was improbable.

Harry continued his observation with the strangest of the people in the room. He didn't have to look at Luna Lovegood to know that she was wearing a set of brightly colored robes and her bottle cap necklace, nor did he have to look to know that she had a distant look in her eyes that made most people wonder if she was actually blind. Though some people may have believed that Luna was using a persona as self defense, or a number of other things to justify her personality...from just the past week, Harry knew that she completely believed everything she talked about. He didn't know if she was gullible, crazy, or just longing to be different.

At the thought of longing to be different, Harry wondered why he had always gone for the complete opposite; he had always wanted to be part of the crowd. The more he tried to blend in, the less he had accomplished over the years. In grade school, he had started off making perfect grades before the Dursley's had accused him of cheating to make better scores than Dudley. After he began borderline failing to save himself from beatings, they began taunting and calling him stupid. When he had been the fastest runner in class (he had plenty of practice due to Harry Hunting, as Dudley called it), the Dursley's had ripped his award away and given it to Dudley. The very next day, Dudley and his friends had jumped Harry from behind and beat him, asking why he couldn't run away this time. It was examples like those that kept Harry from standing out ever again, he knew. Not once in Hogwarts had he been made fun of for either his grades or performance. The only time he had ever shown any ability to excel was in Defense Against the Dark Arts or Quidditch, and both of those were either out of necessity or love. Voldemort drove him to defend himself better in defense, while he just enjoyed the freedom of flying.

His mouth had nearly quirked into a smile as he thought about flying, but quickly stilled itself. He took a moment to look around the train car; Luna was reading the Quibbler upside down, while Hermione and Ron were squabbling and trying to get either Ginny or Neville to take their sides. He wondered how he had ever become friends with those two; they weren't bringing anything he particularly needed into the friendship, nor had he ever put any real value other than companionship on it. It might have been that thought that drove him to get up and head for the door, but it was probably the fact that he needed to use the restroom.

"Where are you going, Harry?" asked Ginny, being the first to notice the Boy-Who-Lived's path toward the door.  
"Restroom," came his one word answer. He was tempted to add 'why, do you think I need help to take a leak too?', but he really couldn't bring himself to feel any spite.

Looking into the mirror above the sink that he was washing his hands in, Harry looked over his features. They hadn't changed all that much in the five years since coming to Hogwarts, though he had grown at least nine or ten centimeters. It wasn't as much as any of the other boys had grown, but none of them had been subjected to the same treatment during early childhood. Although his face was growing sharper and his Adam's apple had become slightly more apparent, he still looked no older than thirteen, though he would be sixteen within the next month. It had been an issue of self-confidence in years past, but looking at himself in the mirror, he realized that he was Harry Potter, and that was all that he was and all he could ever be. If he was short and still looked like he was thirteen, so be it. Though he was physically the same as when he entered the bathroom, had any people been outside to see him leave, they would have thought he was at least a few centimeters taller as he walked without slouching in normal state of self-defeat.

The walk back to his car was temporarily halted as Harry spied the same car holding Daphne Greengrass. As a peak in the door's window showed, it was still otherwise empty, and the girl was laying across one bench seat, looking at the ceiling. Her hair was fanned out on the seat, shining as sunlight rained down from the window.

He had no idea what compelled him to open the door, but decided that it wouldn't hurt anything. After all, the worst she could do was tell him to get out. With that in mind he pried open the door and stepped inside, causing her to immediately shoot up from her resting place on the bench seat.

"Who...What are you doing here, Potter?" asked the girl, who was now brushing her hands back with her fingers in an attempt to make it look tidy.  
"Hn," came Harry's questioning hum. He had no idea, and his response had conveyed as much.  
"You grace one of the Death Eater brood and you have no idea why?" asked Daphne, now looking slightly confused, but mostly on guard. Harry shook his head in the negative, though the way she said Death Eater told him that she and her family were probably not servants of Voldemort.  
"So if you have no idea why you're here.. then why haven't you left?" asked the girl. The question had a little bit of the malice he attributed to the Slytherin crowd, but it was still mostly a question out of curiosity.  
"You've asked me why I'm here and why I haven't left, yet you've not told me to leave.." trailed off Harry, surprising himself and Daphne. He was surprised to have spoken more than a word or two in response, while she was surprised that he had answered in such an angular way.  
"How Slytherin of you, Potter."  
"Hn, perhaps."  
"Well, if you're going to stay here, at least sit down." It was unspoken, but Harry knew that she was slightly unnerved and half expecting an attack if he kept standing. She would never admit to it, though.  
"Thank you," replied Harry, sitting across from her.  
"Where are your lackeys?"  
"...Still in our train car."

She went silent, not knowing what to say after he had answered. Neither she nor Harry really knew anything about the other, save for external features and what had come from rumors. Rumors, she realized, were something that even she was curious about when it came to the Golden Boy. She glanced over at him to see that he was now staring out of the window, the same blank look on his face. Other than passing glances, she had never really looked at him. She, of course, knew about the scar and had heard girls talk about those eerie green eyes, but up close, she wondered how he could be the hero of the wizarding world. He was barely taller than she, passing for what could have been a second or third year, yet he was famous, infamous really. The papers had made a right fool of him until just the beginning of the week, when the Dark Lord's return had been announced.

"So you were telling the truth about the Dark Lord?"

He wondered what possessed her to ask about that after such a lengthy silence. He had been content to sit in company that wasn't bickering or annoying him, but she had asked something that not many people had the guts to do... and she did it in such a condescending way. It was skillful, he realized, that she was able to open conversation like that. She made herself seem so disinterested, yet she would receive an answer whether Harry responded in anger or not. She had also indirectly admitted that her family was not Death Eaters; she would have known, otherwise.

"Evidently," spoke the boy, shifting his gaze to her from the window. He had been unable to get angry at the way she asked, and the surprise on her face was evident.  
"Were the things in the Quibbler true?"  
"If you are referring to the things in my interview...quite. If you are referring to anything else written in it, probably not."

A smile flashed across her face before it was hidden again, making Harry wonder if he had seen it at all. With the exception of a maniacal smirk, Harry was quite certain that he had never seen any sort of smile from a Slytherin. He couldn't help but think he must be a Slytherin, because the closest he had ever come to a smile was the lopsided grin he used. A questioning look on Daphne's face brought him out of his thoughts.

"You're not what I expected."  
"I'm not what I expect, either," mumbled Harry. That statement may have signaled self-pity in the past, but now it just seemed...honest.  
"What really happened at the Ministry?" asked Daphne, realizing that he had been nothing but honest so far. She might as well gain whatever useful information she could, if he was going to be up front with her.  
"Voldemort sent me a dream through my scar. My godfather was supposedly being tortured. My friends and I set out to rescue him. We were tricked, Death Eaters and Voldemort came, my godfather died, and Dumbledore told me that I forfeit my life before I was even born," replied Harry.

From Harry's standpoint, he could see everything that flashed through Daphne's eyes: fear, disapproval, superiority, sadness, and finally confusion. Fear was probably from dealing with Voldemort in any fashion, disapproval for acting like a Gryffindor, superiority for guessing that it was a trap, sadness for the loss of his godfather, and confusion over the part about forfeiting Harry's life. He had just finished his assessment as she spoke.

"Your godfather-- he was Sirius Black, wasn't he?" asked Daphne. The look on her face told Harry that she was confused about why he would be sad over the loss of a Death Eater.  
"Yes. He was innocent, too," replied Harry.  
"Oh. What's that about you forfeiting your life? You're not just being melodramatic, are you?" asked Daphne.  
"Prophecy. Apparently Voldemort and I mortal enemies, and either of us has to die at the hand of the other," said Harry. He hadn't noticed before, but she didn't wince at his name. Truly strange, in the wizarding world. She processed this quickly, seemingly able to piece it together what Harry had said before.  
"You probably shouldn't tell anyone else that," said Daphne, in an almost caring way.  
"It's not a big deal. I'm probably going to die, the only reason I'm alive now is because of luck. He has fifty more years of experience, plus he's already killed thousands of people more powerful than I am," answered Harry. The emotionless, yet casual way he spoke about his own death made her shiver.

Daphne didn't reply to his statement, but Harry could see that she was deep in thought over what he had said. He didn't really expect sympathy; after all, she wasn't particularly close to him. He didn't want pity; he had already accepted the truth. He didn't feel better after getting it off his chest, but he hadn't expected relief. As he turned to the window, Daphne stretched back out across her bench seat, staring at the ceiling.

'I wonder why he seems so sure that he'll die,' wondered Daphne. After all, he had supposedly defeated the Dark Lord at least five times now and lived to talk about it. None except for Dumbledore had ever matched up with that and Dumbledore was over a hundred and forty years Harry's senior. She had been looking at him for nearly an hour now, but she couldn't find or think of anything special that would enable him to live through meetings with the Dark Lord, so something or somebody had to be looking out for him.

"We will be arriving at King's Cross Station in five minutes," came the train conductor's magically enhanced voice.

Harry had fallen into a dreamless sleep, though he hadn't had dreams since after the whole Ministry incident so it was hardly surprising. The surprising thing was that when he woke up, he caught a glimpse of Daphne staring at him before turning away. There was no blush on her face that he saw when Ginny got caught staring, but 'intrigue' might as well have been written in sharpie across her forehead. He stood, stretching slightly before giving an absent nod to her and turning to leave.

"Take care of yourself, Potter. You're not a bad guy," whispered Daphne, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

He raised one hand just enough for her to see it over his turned shoulder, gesturing that he had heard and accepted her words. He didn't, however, turn to see the confused look on her face as he walked out of the door. He was the cause of her confusion, mostly because after the most lengthy talk she had ever shared with Harry Potter, she still had no idea who Harry Potter was.

Harry had been at 4 Privet Drive for nearly three days, not that he was keeping track. Goodbyes had been short and rather uninteresting, with the exception of when Harry's uncle had received a warning from the Order. A warning which had gained Mad-Eye Moody some slight respect from Harry, namely because he hadn't spoken more then ten words since returning to his summer prison. They had left him alone, even shoving slightly larger than normal meals through the cat flap which his Uncle had installed on his door a few summers before. He was about to write his first letter to the Order when a brown owl arrived at his bedroom window, tapping twice with its beak. Harry quickly took the letter that had been attached to its leg and watched as it flew away, but was wondering who would have sent him mail. He had been wary of it being a portkey, but it was just as well. He might as well fight with Voldemort now, before he gains even more strength. He ripped open the letter, half expecting to be whisked away, and half expecting something from the Order.

_Potter,_

_You are very troublesome to write to. Two of my owls were rejected, this is my third attempt at writing. I should have expected mail wards, though, considering your position. If this doesn't reach you, I'm out of ideas since Tiran is the most magically aware owl my family has._

_As for why I am writing, I realized that even after talking to you, I have no idea who you are. Tell me who you are, what you like, what you dislike, and why. As a gesture of good faith, I'll go first._

_I'm Daphne Alexandra Greengrass, born to Arvis Michael Greengrass and Valerie Renee Greengrass on August 18th, 1980. I am obviously a Slytherin. I am sarcastic, but not too much so. I like reading and observing people, mostly because things can be learned and used to my advantage. As for dislikes, I don't like being unaware. Which is part of why I'm writing you, because you caught me off guard. So write me back if you've got nothing better to do._

_Quite obviously,  
Daphne._

It was strange, unexpected, and something for Harry to do. He hadn't been especially bored, but writing to Daphne seemed like a better alternative to looking at the ceiling for hours on end. He wrote a quick letter that said "I'm fine," to the Order before handing it to Hedwig, who promptly flew off to a tree in the backyard and delivered the letter before returning. He tapped a pen on his desk, wondering how he should go about writing somebody he barely knew at all. Deciding to go with whatever fell onto the paper, he started writing.

_Daphne, (You can call me Harry. Potter makes me think of Snape)_

_Thanks for writing, it was very unexpected. I didn't know about the wards, but I assume they are the reason I've never gotten fan mail or anything._

_Reading your letter made me realize that I had no idea who you were either. I knew that you were in Slytherin, and plenty of rumors say that you're uptight and a loner, but that's about it. I probably shouldn't have wrote that, but starting the letter over or scratching it out would require effort that I don't care to exert. However, it was very nice to hear about you and who you are, although you didn't explain very much except for who your parents were, how old you were, and one of your traits. I wouldn't be opposed to hearing more._

_As for me, I will go by your example and put in a few extras. I am Harry James Potter, born to James Potter and Lily Evans on July 31st, 1980. I don't know their middle names, so I can't tell you that. Actually, I really don't know anything else about my parents other than their names. I was sent to live with my muggle aunt and uncle when I was orphaned. They more or less hated my parents and me by extension. I didn't have a happy childhood, but it could have been worse. I grew up trying to fit in and be normal, or at least the muggle version of normal. I had no idea I was a wizard until I was 11, and even now I'm more or less ignorant to most things about the wizarding world._

_I suppose I feel pretty numb these days. I haven't been able to get and stay angry or happy since the Ministry incident. I haven't really felt much of anything. I felt grateful for your letter, but that's the closest I've come to an emotion in a while. Is that what it feels like to hide your emotions all of the time? I know the Slytherins do it (except for Malfoy, who might as well be a Gryffindor with a sneering problem), but I've never really understood it until possibly now. Maybe you can explain it._

_As for what I like, I haven't really thought about it. I suppose I like Defense Against the Dark Arts and Quidditch, but I think the class was more out of necessity, and I like flying more than Quidditch itself. I like flying because it lets me feel free, something I have always wanted to be. Free from destiny, free from this life. I don't like people who go out of their way to make problems for someone else. I probably dislike other things, but I haven't given them very much thought either._

_I started writing back because it was something to do, but I really would like to hear more about you. I suppose that is an emotion, too, so maybe I'm not completely numb. See, you're having a good influence on me already. I guess you'll have to keep using your owl if you want to send a letter, but you could probably keep Hedwig to send something back if you like. She gets through whatever wards just fine._

_Golden Boy Extraordinaire,  
Harry_

He read through the letter twice, making sure it didn't contain anything that would cause problems if intercepted, but quickly realized that he didn't care. Honestly, the thought of Hedwig being caught was more bothersome than having his mail read by someone else. After approving the letter, Harry waved Hedwig over, prompting her to take up a seat on the desk. He gently ran his hand down her back before tying the letter to her leg, directing her on where to go, and sending her off. After watching her fly off into the cloudy sky, he ambled over to his bed and retook his normal ceiling-watching position.

END.

A/N:  
This story more or less stems from my boredom and disinterest in the standard Harry/Ginny stories that grace FFN these days. Not to mention the terrible to mediocre Slash fics that writers have been shitting out so frequently that they should be prescribed Writer's Immodium AD.

I've always been a fan of odd pairings, such as HP/Bellatrix in the HP universe. Writing a HP/Slytherin Girl was interesting to me since I had such a free range with the character, making her more or less OC except for the name.

On a side note, I really disliked HBP. Not only did it play out like mediocre fan fiction, the Harry/Ginny interaction is crap. I dislike the pairing in general due to the whole "Hero/Best Friend's Sister" thing, but there are quite a few fanfics that are written better than HBP at this point in time.

All in all, the rushed ending was probably the only thing I really disliked about this fic, but I couldn't find a proper way to end it and still leave it open to interpretation.


End file.
